


Some Trust In Chariots

by kyrene



Category: Inception (2010), RocknRolla (2008)
Genre: M/M, mild dub-con but with a happy ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-27
Updated: 2011-08-27
Packaged: 2017-10-23 03:18:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,977
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/245719
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kyrene/pseuds/kyrene
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In retrospect, Eames realized, going to the pub had been nothing but a disaster waiting to happen.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Some Trust In Chariots

In retrospect, Eames realized, going to the pub had been nothing but a disaster waiting to happen.

But he'd already known that going into it. Hell, going out in public _anywhere_ in London was a bad idea of a rather epic nature. In fact, he ought to have avoided England altogether; had done so for years beforehand, and with good cause.

But he hadn't been able to turn down this job, and so here he was. Little Ariadne could be very persuasive when she wanted something, and it wasn't as though Eames could have told her the truth of _why_ he didn't want to meet in a pub rather than a warehouse, of why he hadn't wanted to take the job in London at all, when he had never been geographically limited before.

Didn't want to tell her, _couldn't_ tell her, that he was afraid.

Well, perhaps not afraid. Not really. But wary. Definitely wary. It was only common sense. And contrary to what _some_ people might think, Eames was fairly swimming with common sense.

He really ought to have stayed clear, because here in London there were people who had known him before he had become Eames. Who had once held larger portions of his heart than he was comfortable with, now, years down the road. There were people who had known him far too well, even if they hadn't known him as well as they might have thought. It had been easier when he'd been able to ignore the city altogether, when he'd been avoiding the entire country of his birth, when he'd been able to pretend that his old mates, enemies, and "others" no longer existed, that they had no hold over him any longer.

It had been stupid of him to venture out in public. It had also been inevitable, he supposed, that he be found out within twenty-four hours of setting foot on English soil. The fact that he ought to have seen it coming a mile away, walking wide-eyed into his old stomping grounds as he had done, really didn't do anything to make him feel better.

At least it hadn't been One Two. Thank heaven for small favours.

Still, it was quite bad enough so far as such things went.

***

Time might pass and styles might change but Archy, formerly known as Archibald, never forgot a face. Especially not one so distinctive as the one he was looking at right now, across a crowded pub. The fact that it was not the Speeler seemed a bit incongruous, but Archy was only surprised to _see_ the man, not confused as to who he _was_. That much was pretty fucking obvious.

Oh, the man in question had made an effort. He'd grown his hair out and slicked it in a severe side-part. He had the same stubble but he'd gotten rid of the mustache that had been a dead giveaway to everyone but a certain oblivious Scotsman. He'd put on a few pounds, mostly of muscle, and a few years, which definitely showed in the lines of his face. But Archy wasn't fooled by trifles such as this. Not when the essence of the man in question remained unchanged.

He was still handsome, it was true, but not in the same way he had been before. Before, he had been all raw hunger, the air of a predator about him even when he'd been putting on a harmless front. Now, the intensity was tempered by experience, the mask he wore hiding much more than it had used to. He'd grown into his power and knew how to use it, just as Archy had always expected he would, provided he survived long enough. The years had changed much more than the lines of his face; it had changed the man behind his eyes.

Still, the face was recognizable, as was the predator in those dark eyes, and Archy was more than mildly curious as to what he was doing back here now.

And, seeing as he wasn't the sort to be prone to shyness, Archy went over to offer his greeting.

It was only the polite thing to do upon seeing an old mate, hey?

Especially when they were in the heart of Johnny Quidd's territory.

***

"Hello there, Bob."

Arthur had seen a lot of different emotions on Eames' face, for all they hadn't worked together very often. He'd seen Eames go pink with pleasure, red with rage, had seen him worried, stressed, smug, melancholy....

But he had never before seen Eames the forger, the man who made a living out of robbing people blind both in their dreams and in reality, go absolutely sheet white, his face draining of all color, his eyes flaring in unmistakable _shock_.

"Archy!" All the utensils, mugs, and plates rattled as Eames made an abortive move to stand, his upper thighs banging into the tabletop, before falling back into his chair, his mouth round, his eyes still wide.

The man in the dark suit who was standing -- looming -- over their table in the busy pub that Ariadne had chosen was tall, angular, and faintly familiar. As though Arthur ought to _know_ who he was, even though he was pretty sure he didn't. His hair was artfully slicked back with more panache than Arthur bothered with, a rich salt-and-pepper shade that looked darker than it was, and he had the sharpest gaze Arthur he ever seen. He was older than any of them but had lost none of his edge for all that. In fact, Arthur would have ventured to guess that he was the most dangerous person in this pub, even more so than anyone at their table, and that included Arthur himself, and Eames.

There was also a second man, one with dark skin and white hair, who stood at a discrete distance from this "Archy", but Arthur mostly dismissed him, though he kept him in the corner of his eye. He was nothing to sneeze at, but he wasn't the real threat. No, the real threat -- if threat there was -- came from the man who had greeted Eames so easily by another name.

This Archy's sharp gaze was currently fixed on Eames, but Arthur was dead sure that he had as much of an awareness of everyone at this table as Arthur had of his goon. He'd probably already assessed them all in terms of what weaponry they might be carrying, how likely they might be to use it, and their probable skill level.

Arthur surveyed the newcomer with much the same detached assessment. He was disturbed by Eames' obvious distress, but wouldn't let it shake him. It was better that one of them keep his head, after all. He came away with the certainty that this Archy was carrying at least one gun with the possibility of others, and that there was most definitely a blade very skillfully hidden beneath one crisply creased trouser leg.

This was a very formidable person, and Arthur only hoped that he wasn't an old enemy of Eames'. Because friendly greeting aside, his sudden appearance had definitely set Eames on edge. And that couldn't be anything approaching good.

Arthur remained where he was, unmoving, knowing that Archy had to be aware that Arthur was the most dangerous person at the table, aside from Eames, alert and ready to act with an instant's notice should it become necessary as he watched events unfold before him.

What did happen turned out to be remarkably anticlimactic, though, he had to admit.

***

"We should -- we should go somewhere and talk," Eames suggested, barely aware of what he was babbling, just needing to get Archy away from his colleagues, _now_. "Privately."

He was afraid that Archy was going to refuse, that he might want to actually join them at the table, maybe demand to be introduced, and the thought of introducing little Ariadne to Johnny Quidd's most loyal, most deadly watchdog, a man who'd spent five years in jail and who had offed a powerful crime lord like Lenny Cole... well, it made Eames' blood run cold.

But after a breath-sapping moment that was probably not half so long as it seemed to Eames to be, Archy gave him a quick nod, a sharp smile, and took a smooth step back. "Shall we then?"

Eames rose, feeling clumsy by comparison, but at least not bumping the table again. If his heart wasn't still beating out double-time and his system weren't flooded with an alarming excess of adrenaline, he'd have been embarrassed by his initial reaction to Archy's unexpected appearance.

As it was, he counted it a success that his knees didn't give out on him as he followed Archy across the crowded pub and around a corner, into the hallway that led to the loo. His legs were certainly wobbly enough, but he was beginning to get over his shock.

He still wasn't sure how he was going to handle this, but one thing was for certain; he had to make sure that he didn't piss Archy off. Not while the two of them were under the same roof as Ariadne, anyhow. Arthur could take care of himself, but Eames would never forgive himself if something happened to little Ari.

***

"Handsome Bob" might well be a thing of the past but the man standing before Archy right now was still quite good looking. One might even go so far as the say _handsome_ , if he were to lose the excessive pomade. It didn't suit him half so well as it had his dark-haired, bright-eyed companion.

Now _that_ was one that Archy thought he might well need to keep an eye on, same as the young man in question had been keeping an eye on Archy. Especially depending on how this coming conversation went.

"It's not Bob anymore, Archy," not-Bob was saying, his voice lower and more husky than Archy remembered, less youthful and breathy but still filled with gravel and the rumbling promise of sex. Yet another aspect to him that had changed but not unrecognizably so. "It's Eames."

"Eames," Archy repeated, trying it out, allowing himself a small smirk, hands in his pockets. He had to admit that he enjoyed the way he was making Bob-not-Bob-Eames sweat. He wasn't even having to play at being that menacing... but then, they both knew full well that he wasn't playing. "Moved up in the world I see," he said mildly, nodding to indicate the fancy suit and loosened tie this "Eames" was wearing. The Handsome Bob that Archy had known wouldn't have been caught dead in a tie... except maybe in court.

"A bit." Eames, who Archy was having trouble thinking of as anything other than "Bob", fidgeted, nipping at his lower lip, and there was another thing that hadn't changed; the pure sexual attraction he simply seemed to exude.

Archy wasn't immune, never had been, even though he'd never bothered indulging before. But then, Handsome Bob had been brash and unpolished. It would have been more of a risk than the reward would have been worth to bed him, no matter how good a cocksucker he was rumoured to be. Bob had been one of the brighter of the Wild Bunch, had certainly had the most potential, but he'd needed more experience, Archy had always thought, before he might be as useful as his wits and charm had promised. And not just in the bedroom.

Well, it seemed he had gained the worldliness that he had been lacking in the years between when he had vanished out of London completely and now. Archy might approve. He hadn't decided yet. It depended on how ready this newly recognized "Eames" was to play nice.

***

Archy was staring at him with that same old piercing gaze that Bob had known and that Eames had forgotten. The stare that looked right through a man and judged his worth... or at least what his worth might be to Archy.

There was a little quirk to the corner of Archy's lips, as though he was amused. Eames didn't really know whether this was a good sign or a bad one. He'd always had a hard time reading Archy, which was part of what had always intimidated him about the man.

Of course, when Eames felt intimidated, his mouth tended to get away from him. Which was probably not the best sort of reaction he could have had in this situation, but there he was. He could change his name, change his look, and change his chosen profession, but he couldn't change his true nature, and evidently he couldn't keep a rein on his errant tongue.

"You've changed," Archy commented, cool and smooth, no sort of inflection to the words that could have given Eames some sort of clue as to how Archy felt about this fact. "A lot."

Eames smirked, folding his arms. "You haven't changed at all. Still the family lapdog, aren't you."

Of course, as soon as the words left his lips he was internally slapping himself in the head, much like One Two had used to do when Bob had done something to deserve it. But it was too late, the words had been spoken, and even if Archy was one intimidating fucker, Eames wasn't going to completely roll over and show his belly. True, he and his were encroaching on Johnny Quidd's space. But they weren't going to do anything during this job that had to do with Johnny, and so Archy had no reason to give them grief.

God, listen to him think. Not five minutes into a conversation with a face from his past and he was already falling into the old cadences, the ones he'd been so meticulous about shedding when he'd left London for good.

"I would say watchdog, if I were you," Archy replied in an even tone, baring his teeth in something that wasn't anything like a smile. "And I definitely wouldn't say that at all."

"Sorry, Arch," Eames muttered, ducking his head, because he might not want to bare his throat, but there was standing up for oneself and there was insulting a man in his own home, and he was dangerously close to doing the latter. "You _are_ still working for Johnny, aren't you?"

Archy gave him a look that lasted so long Eames almost thought he wasn't going to answer. And wouldn't that just make the conversation more awkward than it already was. Damned awkward, it was, like dancing with One Two had been; not to mention their first couple of conversations after that night....

 _Damn it._

And that was another reason Eames hadn't wanted to come back to London. It was just dredging up tired old memories that he'd thought he'd left behind with the name "Handsome Bob", memories that he didn't really want to revisit.

"Johnny's the name in these parts," Archy finally replied, and that tiny curl was gone from his lips, but he didn't look angry. He looked more thoughtful than anything else, and what Eames wouldn't have given to know what he was thinking. "I'm pretty sure you knew that before you turned up, though."

Eames shrugged a little, trying not to hunch into himself like he would have once done, not able to stop himself from glancing toward the corner that led back into the rest of the pub, where he assumed Arthur was still sitting at their table. He certainly hoped so anyway. He was handling this, was the only one really equipped to do so. He just hoped he didn't fuck it up too badly.

"Look, Arch," he said, trying not to sound as urgent as he felt. "Can't we go and talk somewhere else?"

"What, this isn't private enough for you?" Archy asked, and now he really did smirk, as a patron of the pub chose this exact moment to push past them in a quest to take a piss. "You think we should move it into a stall?"

Eames gave Archy his best glare, which was a lot better than it had once been, but still nothing that compared to some of the expressions he'd seen the man sporting. Archy was a lot like Arthur, Eames thought vaguely. He was calm, easy-going, good natured enough... but if a person crossed him or anyone he felt loyalty toward, that person had best watch out. Because neither Archy nor Arthur put up with any of that shit. In fact, it was more than a man's life was worth to cross either of them, though Arthur was far more circumspect than Archy bothered to be about this last fact.

"All right then," Archy allowed, as another patron followed the first, obviously more inebriated and more in need of the loo, staggering a little and almost knocking into them. "What did you have in mind?"

"How about my place," Eames suggested, even though he knew that this was a horrible idea. But then, he'd been making nothing _but_ horrible decisions ever since Ariadne had asked him to join her in this current job as the extractor and potential forger. Starting with saying "yes".

"Bob, my lad," Archy said magnanimously, clapping a hand to his shoulder and making him start. "Lead the way."

"It's Eames," he corrected, but did as he'd been commanded.

***

"Nice digs," Archy said, glancing around the hotel room Bob-no-Eames had taken him to.

He'd left Turbo in the car; he could have set the man to keeping an eye on Eames' companions, but he was relatively certain that they weren't going to get up to any mischief. Not anything that would affect Johnny, anyhow. Eames might not be Handsome Bob anymore, but he hadn't forgotten, and he'd know better than to stir things up that would be best left undisturbed.

"Bit more posh than my old flat," Eames said, trying and failing to sound off-hand about it. Being here, in London, bringing Archy back to his hotel room, it was all throwing him off, Archy could tell. That was good. He'd be able to get more out of Handsome Bob if he was off balance. Eames, that was. And Archy could certainly understand a man's need to reinvent himself. The name Eames did seem to suit him a bit more than Bob would have done, the way he was all geared up now. Archy wondered a moment where he'd gotten his new moniker from, but it wasn't really important. Eames or Bob, it was the man behind the name he was dealing with. Archy was smart enough not to let himself be distracted by frills or trifles, by the unimportant.

Well, things like that did matter, it was true. They fed into the whole, and they were worthy of note. But it did no good to become fixated on them. Archy was too smart to fall into that trap.

Eames shrugged out of his jacket with jerky movements then thrust a hand in his trouser pocket for a moment. Archy didn't bother going on alert. He wasn't sure what Eames was fingering in there, but he was confident that it wasn't a weapon. The man who had used to be Handsome Bob might not always use the brains God gave him at birth, but he had never been _stupid_ , and Archy trusted that this hadn't changed.

Archy hadn't been exaggerating. This was a very nice place; nothing that a member of the Wild Bunch could have afforded, even after pulling a quality job. Whatever Eames was into, he was doing far better for himself than the old gang had done. Well, that much was a given. Archy didn't make the mistake of underestimating Mumbles or One Two, but Bob had always been meant for more, and now it looked as though he had achieved it.

Of course, it looked as though he'd gotten himself some better companions in crime. They hadn't spoken, but Archy could see plainly that the dark-haired young man at the table had been both brilliant and dangerous, reminding him a bit of Johnny, more than a bit of himself. And the girl had been no slouch, for all she'd looked as though she ought to be in a pleated skirt, knee-socks, and blazer. There was still an air of innocence about her, which either made her more dangerous or made Eames a fool, but either way, both these dark beauties had clearly been of a higher ability set than the old members of the Wild Bunch.

Guns were all very well and good, especially when wielded correctly, but sometimes a sharp set of brains worked even better, and Archy could see that Eames' colleagues had some grand smarts between the two of them. Which in turn raised his estimation of Eames' intelligence, not only in choosing them, but for the fact that they were willing to work with him.

 

The fact that Eames had left them behind in the pub without a second glance amused Archy. He was pretty sure that Eames thought he was protecting them by preventing them from becoming involved. Well, perhaps that was true. Unless they proved to be a nuisance, Archy didn't intend to have anything to do with them.

See, _he_ was smart enough to know to leave them well enough alone. He would trust them to do the same.

"Never did visit your flat," Archy said, and he followed Eames' example, removing his coat and slinging it over the back of the sofa, then unbuttoning his suit jacket. it was cold and wet outside but in here it was warm and elegant. Eames looked at home here in a way that Handsome Bob never could have.

"Wasn't as nice as One Two's," Eames said, and if saying his old mate's name, the man he'd been silently in love with for years, gave him a pang he didn't show it. "But then, he cared a lot more about that sort of thing than I did."

Archy nodded, because that much was true. It looked as though things may have changed in that regard, he thought... but, then, maybe not. He rather thought that this new "Eames" person kept up the trappings of wealth more for the weight it gave him while interacting with others than because it pleased him personally.

"Drink?" Eames offered, moving over to the minibar that this very fine hotel room boasted.

"Sounds good," Archy replied, striding over to look out the window. The view was magnificent, or would have been if it hadn't been late and severely overcast. He had no doubt Eames was paying as much for this view as he was the silk sheets on the bed and the gilded lamp holders on the walls.

"You know," Eames remarked conversationally as he poured, "You never did thank me for getting the grass on Lenny."

Archy turned, grinning sharply, because that much was true. On the other hand; "You never did thank me for cutting you lot free."

Eames snorted, bringing over two glasses that held more than Archy thought was reasonable or wise. He accepted it, amused by the way the tension in Eames' body ratcheted up several notches the closer they stood to one another.

"Your instructions weren't very clear," he told Archy, pacing away and _almost_ managing to make it look natural. "Luckily for us, we were able to make our way free."

"Leaving a swath of destruction behind you," Archy added mildly, although most of the body count had not been the Wild Bunch's doing. It had actually been....

"Saving your boy Johnny along our way," Eames added.

"That's true." Archy allowed, sipping at his whisky. It was powerful stuff, obviously expensive. Archy savoured it, even though it reminded him for a moment of the not so dearly departed Lenny Cole. But that wasn't a bad thing, to be reminded of how things had used to be, how much better they were now.

Eames stared at him a moment, then unexpectedly grinned. He'd changed a lot about his looks, but he hadn't gotten his teeth fixed, Archy noted. He found it to be strangely charming, but didn't allow that to show on his face.

"Fair enough."

Eames held out his glass, and even though he'd already sampled his, Archy touched their rims together with a crystalline sound and a wry crook of his lips.

"Cheers," Archy said, and maybe it was in thanks for getting the grass on Lenny and saving Johnny's life, or maybe it was simply the American way of saluting the sharing of drinks.

***

"Cheers," Eames echoed dutifully, because if it weren't for Archy, he'd have died in that warehouse, back when he'd still been Handsome Bob, back when he'd been too young to know how much he would have missed out on. Before he had entered the dream-share for the first time, before he had become a forger, before he had met a certain infuriating, fascinating point man....

As they wet their lips, Archy's dark eyes were completely unreadable. But that wasn't anything new.

"You never were afraid of me, were you, Bob." It wasn't really a question the way he spoke the sentence in his smooth voice. Eames tensed a little, searching for hidden meaning, for threat or some sort of trap. He didn't correct Archy on the name again, because he didn't feel now was the right time to press the issue. He was more concerned with getting through this conversation with his hide intact.

"I always had a healthy amount of respect for you, Archy," he replied, careful to modulate his tone to match the other man's. "Still do, no worries."

Archy grinned at him, sharp as razor blades and only a little more friendly.

"We're not here to cause any trouble," Eames continued, biting at his lower lip even though he knew that this betrayed anxiety. He noted the way that Archy's eyes fixed on his mouth and couldn't stop himself licking his lips nervously. Oh, because _that_ was such a good idea. Now some of the darkness in Archy's eyes was definitely lust. "You know that, yeah?"

"Well, I didn't until you told me just now," Archy replied easily, and he set his drink down on the coffee table between the two leather sofas, giving Eames another hard, assessing stare. "But I'm prepared to be convinced."

Eames' mouth fell open but no words came out, which might have been a blessing considering that he seemed to be inclined to say the wrong thing when he felt backed into a corner. And even though he was right in the middle of his hotel room, he could feel the press of solid walls against his back, holding him where he stood as Archy stepped closer, into his personal space. Metaphorically, of course, but he was frozen as still as if he _had_ been caught.

"So how much is it worth to you, Bob," Archy asked, smooth as silk and not half so pretty, as he reached up and brushed his fingertip lightly, oh so lightly over the stubble lining Eames' jaw, "The good will of Johnny Quidd?"

***

Eames swallowed tightly, then raised his glass and threw back all of the whiskey therein. It set his eyes to watering, but the colour in his cheeks had been there before he took his swig.

"That depends on what I have to do to earn it," he husked, and he already sounded completely fucked out. His voice had always sounded like sex, but now with the hard booze roughening it up, it made the hairs on the nape of Archy's neck stand to attention, made his cock swell in his neatly pressed trousers.

"Well. How do you _think_ you should earn it?" he asked reasonably, taking the empty glass from Eames' hand and bending to set it on the coffee table beside his own nearly full glass, making sure to flash the gun he already knew that Eames knew he had. Not that he thought he needed to use intimidation of that sort. It was more like a gentle reminder.

Eames licked his lips again, and they were even fuller and more red, irritated by the straight liquor he had just downed. Archy let his hand come to rest on Eames' shoulder, not pressing on the hard bones and muscle, but a deliberate weight, a muted command.

"Should I talk to Johnny directly?"

Archy restrained himself from snorting. So they were playing the game this way, were they?

"No. Anything you have to say to Johnny can go through me. You know that already."

Eames licked his lips again and if he didn't know it was an involuntary response, Archy might have slapped him for being a fucking tease. And a real Archy slap was nothing to be scoffed at, as no-longer-Bob-Eames-now well knew.

"Don't really have much to say to Johnny," he husked. "Long as _you_ say we're good, Arch."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," Eames replied, and suddenly something in him loosened, and he gave Archy a small smile, sinking gracefully to his knees. "Now let's see about earning your good will."

"Atta boy," Archy murmured, mussing that carefully styled hair with one hand, tightening his fingers and abruptly pulling so that Eames had no choice but to look up at him. "Play nice with me and I'll make sure we play nice with you."

"Yeah, okay, Arch," Eames said breathlessly, sounding more like the Handsome Bob that Archy had used to know, tugging at his own hair where it was locked in Archy's unmerciful grip in order to lean forward and press his face into Archy's flies. He breathed deeply, in and then out, and the rush of heated, moist breath seeped through the material of Archy's trousers, making him even harder. It was both a tease and a promise, and in a moment Archy was going to make sure Eames lived up to both.

"Always thought Johnny would have gone to his knees for you in a second, if you'd given him the nod," Eames said, his voice a little muffled, but the words clear enough.

"Watch your mouth," Archy said sharply, giving Eames' hair a yank that wrenched his head back again, far enough that he could frown down at him. It reminded him a little of the way that Bob had looking up at him when he'd lifted the hood Lenny'd had thrown over his head, planning on offing the star members of the Wild Bunch. Eames owed this new life he had now to Archy, so it was only fitting that he suck him off in his swank hotel room in order to keep what he had. Yeah?

"Johnny's the boss now," Archy continued, as Eames stared up at him mutely, looking both resentful and malleable at once, a remarkably arousing combination. "Anyhow," he continued thoughtfully, "That's not really what Johnny wants or needs. He's just got a daddy complex and an unhealthy fixation on my gun, that's all."

Eames gave a little huff of amusement, those pink lips turning up at the corners. "That sounds about right," he said, and seeing as he would shortly be sucking Archy off, he allowed this familiarity.

Eames' hands were hot on Archy's thighs, holding himself steady, and the two of them had evidently reached an agreement of sorts. The best way to get Eames to stop mouthing off would be to put something _in_ his mouth, Archy thought, letting loose of his hair and reaching for his button and zip.

"I always did wonder what your pretty mouth would look like stretched around my cock," he said conversationally as he undid his belt then opened his trousers just enough to fish his rapidly hardening cock out. No need to expose more than he had to, even though he knew that both he and Eames were well aware of what all was what here.

"So why didn't you do something about it back then?" Eames asked, giving him that same intense stare Archy remembered from that day he'd finally uncovered Sidney Shaw and offed Lenny Cole. He kind of liked it, the melding of memory and current events, seeing some of the old Handsome Bob in this new Eames' face. Because what he had just told Eames was true; he always had wondered.

"Honestly?" He couldn't help smirking a little. "I was concerned I'd break you and leave good old One Two without his favourite driver, yeah? Fragile little thing that you were."

Not surprisingly, Eames bristled at this. Evidently there was still a little of the Wild Bunch's Bob in him yet. "That's not the way I remember it," he all but growled, fierce as a kitten.

Archy chuckled, even as he smacked Eames in the cheek with his cock. "It wouldn't be, would it."

***

Eames didn't flinch, he took pride in this fact. That wasn't exactly a high point in his night, to be sure, but here he was, on his knees before Archy so he didn't have a lot of room left in him for pride.

The irony of this whole situation was that when he had been younger and more fool-headed, years back, he would have been _gagging_ for this. Hell, he would have counted it quite the coupe. Being bedded by the infamous Archy? It would have been terrifying and exhilarating at once.

Now.... Well, maybe not so much. Archy wasn't any less sexy than he had been, and he certainly wasn't any less dangerous. No, it was Eames who had changed. He wasn't Handsome Bob any longer, and he didn't have those hungry, potentially self destructive desires that he'd once had. He no longer had any need to spite One Two -- not that the oblivious bastard had even known Bob was in love with him until he'd come out and _told_ him -- which he might very well have done if offered this chance, even if no one but he and Archy had ever known.

No, there was someone else now, someone that Eames very much would didn't want to find out about this. Because it was _going_ to happen, that much was clear. Not that the person in question knew about Eames' feelings. Eames had learned his lessons with One Two; never mix business and sex, and never fall in love with a mate.

Well, technically speaking, he was about to break that first rule now.... But in a completely different way to usual.

See, on the one hand, Eames didn't mind that he was about to suck Archy's cock. He wasn't actually _in_ a relationship, so there was no real infidelity being committed. And this was kind of a necessity. Besides, Archy _was_ still dead sexy.

On the other hand, he wasn't as young and eager as he used to be. This would have been a lot easier, and a _hell_ of a lot more simple back when he had still been a member of the Wild Bunch.

Well, sex was sex. And if loyal old watchdog Archy wanted a blowjob, then Eames was going to make good and goddamned sure that it was the finest blowjob Archy had ever gotten. A man had his pride, after all, and Eames knew that he did good work.

Even if he couldn't help the awareness in the back of his mind that, at the heart of it, it was someone else's cock that he'd rather be sucking.

***

Eames did have a lovely set of lips on him, Archy thought, making sure to keep his eyes in them as they parted and slid over the head of his cock. It was a sight worth savouring, that much was true. Maybe even worth the wait, not the Archy had been hurting in the meantime.

There were plenty had gone down on Archy, both before and after he'd first met little Handsome Bob. Eames might not be he best he'd ever had, but if he wasn't, he was damned close to it. Archy would give him that.

Well, he'd give him a lot more than that, once Bob brought him off in his mouth, as his plush lips and supple tongue promised.

After nearly a minute of soft wet heat and suction, Archy tightened his fingers in Eames' hair again and pulled him off. Eames let out a small sound of protest, which was flattering even if it was faked, which Archy was honest enough with himself to admit that it probably was.

Those fat red lips were even more alluring, pressure-bruised and glistening damp with saliva and probably no small amount of precome. Eames' cheeks were flushed above the stubble, and his grey eyes were dark and heavy-lidded. If the desire _was_ feigned, he was doing it very well.

"Did you ever get this talented mouth on old One Two?" Archy asked with a small smirk. Because if he was standing here with his cock out of his trousers, in another man's mouth, letting himself reveal that amount of weakness, then he wasn't going to be the only one being exposed. And words could deal more damage than fists or a gun if wielded correct.

Besides, Eames had said things about Johnny; time for Archy to get a little payback for that.

Those hooded eyes flashed at him, but Archy wasn't worried, not even at the prospect of angry teeth so near his most vulnerable area. Because no matter how upset Archy might make him, Eames still knew how the cards were dealt and that it was Archy doing the dealing. He wouldn't do anything detrimental because it would only come back down on his own head, several times over.

Bob or Eames, this man was no fool.

"Fuck off, Arch," he husked, his lower lip extended in something he probably wouldn't want to acknowledge was a pout. "That's none of your concern."

"I'll take that as a no, then," Archy chuckled. He gripped the side of Eames' face with the hand not locked in his hair, thumb pressing almost violently against that plump lower lip, then fed his hard cock back into the welcoming heat of his talented mouth. "One Two didn't know what he was missing," he added, chuckling again at the stormy glare Eames sent up at him through long lashes. But then his breath caught and he gave up on words, because Eames went to work, and even if it was only retaliatory Archy didn't mind, considering that this was definitely one of the best blowjobs he'd ever gotten.

Giving over restraint -- because he might have feared he would break young Bob but this new Eames was stronger and more resilient -- Archy set about fucking the skilled mouth sealed on his hard cock with the sole intent of coming. Eames gagged a little when Archy's cock hit the back of his throat, but he took it like a man and quickly recovered, getting back to it.

Really, Archy had to admire his dedication to his craft, Archy thought with a tight grin, as he worked his way closer and closer to release. It wasn't just the heated suction and talented twists of Eames' tongue that were bringing him off. It was seeing a strong, self-reliant man on his knees for him. It was the hand he still had sunk in Eames' hair. It was the flush of Eames' cheeks and the red lips straining around his cock. It was the sounds Eames was making, and if he wasn't into this, actually physically enjoying himself, then Archy would give him props for being an incredible actor.

Not that this would surprise him, for all Handsome Bob had always been so obvious in his feelings for One Two. But then rational thought shivered to pieces and his breath stuttered in his chest, and Archy let out one long, low groan as he spilled in Eames' wet sucking mouth.

Because it wasn't a weakness at this point; it was a reward for all the man's hard work.

***

Eames choked a little when Archy came down his throat, since the bastard wasn't giving him much room to maneuver, hadn't given him anything by way of warning, but he swallowed valiantly and finished as he had started; which was to say with a certain amount of panache.

His own cock was throbbing hard in his trousers, because a man would have to be made of stone not to be turned on after a ride like that, but he hadn't touched himself. It just... didn't seem right.

He wasn't left hanging too long, though. It was entirely unexpected, when Archy let loose his hair and after taking a moment to tuck himself away and do up his zip, reached down to grab Eames and drag him to his feet.

"Wha--?" was all that Eames managed to gasp out, before he was tugged up against the solid expanse of Archy's chest, one arm slung almost casually around his waist, but at the same time holding him upright, and the other hand going down between his thighs, the heel of Archy's palm grinding against his hard-on so roughly that it was as much painful as it was pleasurable.

That was what it took to get Eames off in turn, however, and he muffled a shout into Archy's shoulder, involuntarily grabbing at the collar of the man's suit jacket as he bowed inward and shot off in his boxers.

And wasn't that mildly humiliating, like he was some fool teenager spouting off at the bare start of a handjob. But it was also a relief, because he'd fully expected he'd either have to get himself off once Archy had left, or take a cold shower for as long as it might take to calm his cock the fuck down.

All that was unnecessary now, and he wasn't about to let Archy know he was grateful, but he rather was. It had been nice to have had the choice taken out of his hands. Literally.

"There you go," Archy soothed, and Eames could feel his voice rumbling in his chest before he pushed away, a little unsteady on his feet but not inclined to cling to the other man. "That's better, yeah?"

"Er, yeah," Eames replied, allowing Archy that much. He reached up, rubbing at the back of his head, a little surprised to feel longer strands of hair than Handsome Bob had sported, just for a moment before he came back to himself, slid back into the skin he was wearing now. Handsome Bob was in the past and that was where he was going to stay, damn it.

Archy was giving him a long, piercing look, and Eames flushed. He knew he looked less than professional right now, with his hair a wild fright and his cheeks red, his lips redder. Of course, this was all Archy's fault, and if anything he was probably feeling smug about it, the bastard, but that didn't mean Eames cared any less for the loss of his hard-won dignity.

Still, it hadn't been all bad. He might not have been whole-heartedly into the idea at first, but he wasn't the sort to fake enthusiasm. It was something he'd have enjoyed far more when he'd been younger, but sucking Archy off had been just about as hot and intense as he had always suspected that it would be. Sex with Archy probably would have wrecked him, but that wasn't on the table, not where either of them was concerned.

"We good, Archy?" he asked, hating the way his voice was reduced to a husky rasp, but there was no help for it when he'd just had the man's cock down his throat.

"If you say we're good, we're good," Archy told him, picking up his coat, and looking so put together that it was hard to believe he'd just come in Eames' mouth. There was a pleased expression on his face and his cheeks were just the faintest bit pink, but that was it. Eames wasn't sure whether he ought to be offended or not, but mostly he was just relieved that this evening wasn't ending in utter disaster.

"Well... I guess we are then," he said, shifting. He hadn't come in his pants since he'd been a teen and he'd forgotten how uncomfortable it got after the fact. The sooner Archy left, the sooner Eames could get himself stripped and hop in the shower. "Honestly, Arch, what we're doing has nothing to do with you or yours, and I'm not dumb enough to cross you if something about that changes."

"That's all I need to know then, Bob," Archy said, taking a last sip of whiskey and then heading for the door.

"It's Eames now," Eames corrected, following Archy like the good host he was.

Archy paused, turning and giving Eames a long look, his expression once again unreadable.

"You've changed," Archy said again. But this time he added; "For the better, I think."

Before Eames could respond to this, though in all honesty he wouldn't have known what to say, Archy reached out and wrapped his fingers around the tie Eames was still wearing, reeling him in. He kissed him fiercely, almost like an assault, then smiled and looked rather fond.

"You haven't changed, Arch," Eames told him, and he meant it as a compliment, same way Archy had meant his words.

"Shall I tell One Two you said hi?" Archy asked, as though to prove that he was still a mean bastard despite their moment of understanding.

"No!" Eames squawked, before he registered that Archy had turned loose his hold on Eames' tie and was grinning more widely now. "Don't you dare," he growled, because if any of the Wild Bunch knew he was in town they wouldn't rest until they'd tracked him down. And that wasn't something he was prepared to deal with. One face from the past had almost been more than he'd been able to handle.

"All right then," Archy replied easily enough, opening the door. "Take care of yourself, Bob."

Before Eames could correct him again, Archy was gone. Letting out a long breath of relief, Eames headed for the bathroom, getting himself shed of his clothing as quickly as he could along the way.

That was over with, he and Archy had reached an understanding, his team ought to be safe enough carrying out their job, and Eames had an overdue date with his shower stall and some very, very hot water. And soap.

But first and foremost? Eames grimaced. He was in desperate need of some mouthwash.

***

Arthur was a patient man. He waited until he had seen Archy leaving Eames' hotel, until he was sure that both the man and his goon -- who was evidently also his driver -- were well away, and then he waited another fifteen minutes past that point before he took the elevator to Eames' floor and knocked on the door of his hotel room.

He made use of this time to make some calls and satisfy his curiosity as to who exactly it was that Eames had left the pub with. Arthur had always been excellent at managing his time, and he was even better at finding out the things he needed to know. This time proved to be no exception.

Once he'd seen Eames exit the pub beside the semi-menacing Archy, without so much as a glance in his direction, Arthur had settled the bill and made sure that Ariadne made it safely to her apartment. She'd been brimming with curiosity and a little worried about Eames, but Arthur made her swear to stay in all night, promising her that he was going after Eames and that he would contact her as soon as he knew anything. She was a smart girl and knew that if Arthur was on edge, she ought to do as he said, for which he was grateful. Also, if he knew she was safe, he could concentrate all his attentions on their renegade team member.

Once that was accomplished, he'd gone to Eames' hotel, which was not the same one he was staying at. And there he and the silver-haired goon had waited; Arthur sitting in the lobby, and the goon sitting outside, in the car. Arthur was a little impressed by the sleek black Bentley Arnage, he had to admit, but he was more concerned with what Archy might be doing, up there in Eames' room.

What he had dug up on Archy, formerly known as Archibald, on the phone didn't go a long way toward reassuring him. But Eames had seemed more distressed than fearful, after his initial reaction of shock, and he'd certainly left the pub under his own steam. Arthur trusted that if Eames had needed Arthur's help, he'd have found _some_ way to communicate this fact to him.

That didn't mean that he wasn't still curious, that he didn't want to hear from Eames directly what had gone down. Because, whether it affected the job or not, Eames had obviously been affected. And Arthur wasn't going to be able to just go to his own hotel and not see Eames again until tomorrow. No, he needed to know.

Besides, he'd promised Ariadne. And even if _he_ wasn't worried, she would be.

So there was that as well.

Eames opened the door almost before Arthur was done knocking. He was frowning slightly, and his frown only deepened when he saw who it was standing in the hallway.

"Arthur," he drawled, and his voice sounded softer and more raspy than usual. "What are you doing here?"

"Dumb question, Eames," Arthur replied, and he might have sounded more snappish than he'd meant to, but Eames was leaning in the cracked door, his hair plastered to his scalp, his cheeks still flushed from the shower he'd obviously just taken, the collar of the short-sleeved shirt he had on undone to show curls of hair on his chest that were still damp and dewy with bathwater, and he smelled clean and yet the way that only Eames smelled. Rich and masculine, even straight out of the shower.

Arthur couldn't help wondering exactly _why_ Eames might need to bathe directly after Archy had left his hotel room, and this might also have contributed to his sharpness.

In fact, it was a distinct possibility.

"Can I come in?" he asked, trying to speak more calmly, to swallow down his emotions. He wasn't going to be doing either of them any favors if he couldn't control himself. And besides, he still need to make sure that Eames was all right.

Eames hesitated a long moment, as though he was seriously thinking of denying Arthur entrance, but then he sighed, deflated a little, and stepped back out of the doorway. "Sure, come in," he said.

Arthur didn't care for the tone of his husky voice that hinted at defeat, but he was getting his way, so he did as directed and entered Eames' hotel room.

"Are you all right?" he asked point blank. "No bullet holes? No stab wounds? No new bruises?"

Eames actually laughed, which made Arthur feel immediately better. "Nothing like that, darling Arthur. Although I thank you for your concern."

"It's not just me," Arthur informed him briskly, pulling out his phone and dialing Ariadne up. "Ari? He's fine. Yeah, I'm looking at him right now and he's in one piece. No, its all right, but I still think you should stay in for the night. We'll meet you tomorrow morning at the usual time and place. Uh-huh, I'll tell him."

Eames had begun collecting scattered clothing while Arthur had been placating their third team member, and Arthur had been watching with narrow eyes, though the level tone he'd used while talking to Ariadne hadn't altered. Those were the clothes that Eames had been wearing at the pub, and he had to wonder just _what they were doing on the floor_.

They had seemed to form something of a haphazard trail to the bathroom, though, so Arthur surmised -- and hoped -- that Eames had simply taken them off on his way there, _after_ Archy had left.

Though why he'd needed to strip at all was a question burning in the forefront of Arthur's mind.

"Ariadne says you're in the doghouse for leaving without saying anything," he informed Eames as he hung up and tucked his phone away. "I suggest picking her up a coffee on the way in tomorrow. And a pastry. In fact, you might want to keep doing that for the rest of the job."

Eames grimaced, dumping the clothing he'd collected in the corner with little care. "Duly noted. But it wasn't exactly my fault, you know. And I wasn't about to introduce our delicate little flower to the big bad wolf."

Arthur watched quietly as Eames rubbed at his upper lip, an anxious tell that he'd never been able to train himself out of despite having full knowledge of it. The fact that he was doing it now meant that he was more off balance than he looked... and he looked pretty off balance from where Arthur was standing.

"Let's sit and talk," Arthur suggested, moving toward the sofa. There were two glasses on the coffee table, one empty and one nearly full, but he didn't suggest more drinks. He wanted them both to have a clear head for the coming conversation.

Maybe he was being presumptuous. If so, he didn't care. Whatever had gone down, it was something he needed to know about. And the fact that Eames said he was physically all right was only the bare beginning.

"Yeah, all right," Eames grunted eventually, biting at his lower lip as he moved to join Arthur.

***

Talking to Arthur about what had just happened had to be a world class bad idea, Eames thought, but it wasn't as though Arthur was giving him any choice. And it wasn't as though he'd made any _good_ decisions tonight.

Why break his streak now, Eames wondered in despair. He certainly seemed to be on a roll.

"I suppose you want to know who this Archy is," he said grudgingly, giving the man's neglected whisky a longing glance. But he didn't think he could bring himself to put his lips where Archy's had been, not while Arthur was in the room. Sure, he's sucked Archy's cock, swallowed his come, and Archy had even kissed him, which had been more than a little weird, but that had been when he and Eames had been alone in the room. Not when Eames was sitting here, under Arthur's sharp but somehow strangely compassionate gaze. That made a difference.

"I already know who 'this Archy' is," Arthur said softly, leaning closer. "I know who he is and who he works for. My question for you now is, is he going to become a problem?"

Eames shook his head immediately. "Not unless we become a problem for him and his," he replied honestly. "So, no."

Arthur gave him a long, hard stare that, much like Archy's, Eames couldn't read. "I meant, is he going to become a problem for _you_ , Eames," he said. "Personally."

And that was something unexpected. Not the part where Arthur had already figured out Archy and his connection to Johnny Quidd. But the part where he sounded as though he was actually concerned about Eames... _personally_?

"Why, Arthur, I didn't know you cared," Eames managed, but he had to force the words out through a throat that felt too tight and he was painfully aware that there was a definite lack of his usual playfulness to his tone.

Arthur frowned at him, and it was a frown, not a scowl, which made Eames feel even more strange than he had when Archy had kissed him. Because Arthur was worried about him, and this was _Arthur_. Since when did Arthur worry about _Eames_?

"I'm fine," he said, and it was rather appalling how unconvincing he sounded. "Honestly. It was just a blowjob, no big deal. A favor for a favor, you know."

And, oops, he definitely hadn't meant to give so much away, was frankly appalled at himself, but once again, that errant tongue of his was bound and determined to get him into trouble.

Arthur's eyes widened, then narrowed into sharp slits. "Are you saying he coerced you into performing oral sex?" he asked, in a tone that threatened imminent violence. Whether against Eames or Archy, Eames wasn't sure, but he hastened to correct any misconceptions. Not that Arthur wasn't right in a manner of speaking. But saying it like that was unfair to Archy, because Eames hadn't once indicated to Johnny Quidd's watchdog that he might not be willing.

"Nothing like that," he assured Arthur quickly, raising his hands palms up and shaking his head. "It wasn't like that, Arthur, really. I mean, it's nothing that I didn't choose to do. We were both consenting adults."

"Hm."

Eames wasn't sure Arthur believed him, even though he'd spoken nothing but the truth.

"Just a quick exchange, a showing of good faith," he added weakly, and he couldn't help thinking how sordid and pathetic it all sounded when he was pinned underneath Arthur's intent stare, even though it had seemed to make perfect sense at the time. "It's not a big deal," he concluded, biting at his lower lip and casting down his gaze, discovering that he was twisting his hands together in his lap. Damn it. He hadn't meant to tell Arthur. The guilt that he'd been able to largely keep at bay up to this point was rising to overwhelm him, and damned if he wasn't making a complete fool out of himself because of it.

"You say that," Arthur said slowly, and he sounded calm enough but there was a queer tone to his voice that Eames couldn't really parse. "You say that, but I can tell that you don't feel that way. Not entirely."

Eames shrugged. He could feel cold water trickling down the nape of his neck from his damp hair, and while he didn't regret having bathed before letting Arthur in, he was deeply regretting having _let_ Arthur in to his hotel room at all. If he hadn't had to face the man until tomorrow, he could have built up his armour, could have fortified his defenses against him, and then he'd never have blurted out the fact that he'd given Archy a suck job. Why had he even done that? It wasn't as though Arthur would have known if Eames hadn't confessed.

Well, he might have been able to guess. Arthur was brilliant and he may very well have been able to read the physical cues, like Eames' fucked-out voice and reddened lips. But he'd never have _known_ if Eames hadn't gone and blurted it out like a complete fool.

"Eames." Arthur sounded gentle, almost tentative, and that actually made Eames feel _worse_. "What's done is done. I'm not judging you. Believe me when I say I'm not. But...."

Eames risked a glance and he couldn't read any lie in Arthur's words on his face. He looked quiet, focused, very much like he usually looked. For some reason that put Eames more on edge, not less. "But?" he prompted, even though he didn't think he wanted to know where Arthur was going with that thought.

"What's _your_ 'but'?" Arthur asked, meeting Eames' eyes, his warm brown eyes steady and serious. "You say it was consensual, fine, I believe you. But there's something more, isn't there? Something that's bothering you."

"Oh. Well." Eames drew in a deep breath. He'd already fucked everything up; how much worse could more honesty make things?

Right?

Okay, a _lot_ worse, he supposed. But Arthur was taking this so well that the man really did deserve more of the dreadful honesty that Eames usually tried so hard to avoid.

"It's just... a man's got to have a certain amount of loyalty for those he care about, yeah?" he said, waving a hand airily. "Even if he's not in a relationship. Even if the person in question has no idea."

"No idea, huh?"

Eames startled as Arthur's hand came to rest, warm and heavy on the nape of his neck, erasing the memory of the chill path that water droplet had taken. His eyes flew up, wide, meeting Arthur's gaze. And it irked him that Arthur looked so assured, so in control. Because Eames had _no_ idea what was going on, and he _hated_ feeling that way.

Also, he was more than a little freaked out that Arthur was _touching_ him. It happened so rarely.... It _had_ happened before. Arthur had taken the time to hook Eames up to the PASIV device in the second level of the dream during the Fischer job, on Arthur's level. But such things did not happen often, and Eames always ached for days afterward, even though he felt that this made him more a fool than anything else.

"Really, Eames?" Arthur leaned in, his voice going low and intimate but sounding more amused than anything else, his eyes gleaming with more emotions than Eames could easily catalog. "Do you really think I'm that dense? Or do you think that you've been that subtle. Because I've got news for you; you haven't been."

Eames caught his breath sharply, sure that this was the moment when Arthur told him what was what, pushed him away, punched him, or possibly worst of all, informed him compassionately but firmly that he was _not_ interested in return....

But what he hadn't expected, in any potential scenario, was that Arthur's grip on his neck would tighten and he'd be reeled in for the second time that evening, dragged into another kiss.

Arthur wasn't kissing him the way Archy had kissed him, Eames thought blankly as his mind struggled to catch up to what his body was experiencing. This kiss was not hesitant, but it _was_ gentle. Soft and sweet and exploratory, as though Arthur was uncertain of his welcome despite his confident words. Eames thought that it was about the most wonderful thing that had ever happened to him, and he only wished he hadn't been terrified, so that he could actually enjoy it.

Before Eames could pull his scattered wits together enough to kiss Arthur in return, before he could decide whether he _ought_ to kiss him in return, Arthur pulled away, sitting back and giving him a long, steady look.

"Was that okay?" he asked quietly, and his hand stayed where it was on the nape of Eames' neck, but he wasn't touching him anywhere else. Their knees were close, where they were sitting side by side on the sofa, but he was giving Eames his space. Eames appreciated that. He kind of thought he needed it, as pathetic as that was.

He licked his lips, tasting Arthur and not Archy, and that was a definite improvement. And yet, he couldn't bring himself to take this at face value. Because....

"Why now, Arthur?" he asked. That was the most important question, and he waited anxiously for the answer, his heart pounding against his breastbone.

Arthur ran the tip of his tongue over his lower lip, drawing Eames' attention all over again to just how perfect Arthur's mouth was. His lips looked to be built for kissing, and Eames wanted nothing more than to feel them against his own again, to lick them open, to take and taste some more.... But first he needed to know _why_ Arthur had just kissed him.

"Because," Arthur replied evenly, his eyes dark and serious, his fingers tight on the back of Eames' neck, "I had to wait for you to make the first move. If I had made a move before you were ready you would have run. And I would have been able to chase you down, true, but it might not have gone well when I caught you."

Eames scowled fiercely. He wanted to refute all of that, to ask Arthur what the hell he thought he was on about... and yet he had to admit that Arthur was probably right. Even though he hated knowing this about himself and hated that Arthur knew it.

Hated being so transparent and so vulnerable... and yet he now knew he could trust Arthur to do what was best for him, for them. It was both humbling and exhilarating at once, and he wasn't sure how to deal with the conflict he was feeling. But Arthur had always stirred emotions in Eames that he couldn't control. It was infuriating and terrifying, but it was also a large part of the appeal.

"Am I supposed to believe that you were talking about someone else just now?" Arthur asked, and one corner of those delicious lips quirked up, one dimple dented his cheek briefly before he became serious again. "Because I have to tell you, Eames, that I would find that hard to believe."

***

Eames glanced away, evidently unable to hold Arthur's gaze, but Arthur didn't think that all hope was lost. He was taking a risk, being so honest with Eames. But if they were going to grab anything for themselves, if they were going to create anything out of the emotions and desires between the two of them, he had _needed_ to be honest.

Now he just had to hope that Eames was willing to be honest in turn. With himself, if not with Arthur.

"It was...." Eames licked his lips, and Arthur wanted to kiss him again _so badly_ , but this conversation was too important to interrupt. And, after all, Arthur had a lot of practice reining in his libido where Eames was concerned; otherwise they'd already be sleeping together.

Which was tempting, true, but Arthur wanted more than just sex, and he was fairly certain that Eames felt the same way. Even if he might not be ready to admit to it yet.

"No, I wasn't talking about someone else," Eames said helplessly, shooting a quick glance at Arthur out of the corner of his eye, then looking away again. He seemed to be staring at the door, which Arthur hoped didn't mean he wanted to flee this discussion. Not that he'd have blamed Eames. But they were in Eames' hotel room, so hopefully he'd stay put until they'd reached some sort of understanding. "You're right, Arthur. I don't think you're dense. Though I'm starting to think _I_ might be."

Arthur couldn't help laughing softly at this, even though he risked pissing Eames by doing so. Eames didn't seem to mind, and he remained sitting where he was, though he did stiffen a little when Arthur feathered his thumb over the pulse in his throat. Arthur liked the way his fingers fit around the nape of Eames' neck, the way Eames was simply allowing Arthur to hold onto him. And it was a real act of restraint for him not to just drag Eames in for another kiss.

"So..." Eames eventually said, while Arthur was still trying to figure out what to say next, and wondering whether it would be such a bad idea to just kiss Eames again without saying _anything_ , "So, I should probably apologize for blowing Archy?"

Arthur bit back a chuckle at the adorably uncertain tone of Eames' voice because this was a serious moment, something real between them, and Eames was so overly sensitive and prickly at the best of times, that Arthur didn't want to take a chance on alienating him.

"Not really," he said easily, but not flippantly. "That's in the past, Eames. But I just want you to know that I'm a jealous man and a possessive lover, so there had better not be any of that in the future."

The look Eames turned on him was comparable to the one he'd given Archy when the man had first turned up in the pub and it gave Arthur a pang to see it. But he was done with subtlety. Subtlety had gotten him exactly nowhere with Eames in the years that they had known each other. Being careful of what he said and how he said it was one thing, but not saying it at all was only going to continue to get him nowhere fast.

"I'm going to kiss you again," he warned, because Eames didn't seem inclined to say anything in response to his bold statement. Perhaps it would have been polite to wait, but the way Eames lips were moving soundlessly as he mouthed "lover" tempted Arthur in a manner he wasn't inclined to resist.

Besides, he'd been waiting years for this. Maybe this was rushing Eames a little, but he knew that Eames was a tactile being, so perhaps this would help to kick his brain back into gear.

And, hell, at least he was giving Eames fair warning. He hadn't had to do that.

Eames might seem more than a little flummoxed, but he responded readily and eagerly enough when Arthur pressed their lips together once again. Before more than two seconds had passed, Arthur had Eames' tongue in his mouth, and they wrestled a little for control of the kiss before coming to what certainly seemed to Arthur to be a mutual agreement that a little give and take was just about perfect.

"Let me blow you," he said when they parted for air, and he gloried more than a little in the flare of heat that this brought to Eames' eyes. He wanted to get his fingers in Eames' hair, which was drying in errant tufts, and he wanted to kiss him until both their lips were numb, but most of all, he wanted to get Eames' cock in his mouth.

"That... hardly seems... fair," Eames said breathlessly, and a little nonsensically as far as Arthur was concerned. "Shouldn't it be _me_ sucking _you_ off?"

"What, in some sort of penance?" Arthur asked dryly, and the sooner he got into Eames' pants the happier he was going to be. "Don't be ridiculous. I want to blow you and then jerk off until I come on your stomach. Now get naked and get on your back on the bed."

Internally, Arthur held his breath, afraid that he might have just wrecked things by ordering Eames around when they had only kissed twice, but he made sure to keep his expression steady and serious. He could feel the flush in his cheeks and the faint dampness of perspiration at his temples, but he ignored these sensations, instead watching as color swept through Eames' face in a quick wave, and the man's eyes went limpid and steamy.

"All right, Arthur," Eames said, not compliantly but eagerly, moving to do as he'd been instructed. Evidently he didn't mind being given orders when the two of them weren't on a job, Arthur thought gleefully, filing that bit of information away for future reference. "But only because you asked so nicely."

Arthur allowed himself a little chuckle as they both rose from the sofa and he followed Eames over to his bed. Eames didn't strip along the way, but instead came to stand beside it before he paused and quickly shed himself of his shirt and pants. He remained in his boxers, though, suddenly looking uncertain and almost a little shy, as incongruous as this might seem to anyone who knew him.

"You too, Arthur?" he said, and he probably meant for it to sound more like a statement and less like a question than it ended up coming out.

"Sure," Arthur replied, skinning off his pants and underwear but leaving on his shirt. He wasn't wearing a tie and his collar and cuffs were unbuttoned. He could see the arousal in Eames' gaze as his eyes ran over Arthur's body, lingering on the erection that was punching its way into view beneath the hem of his shirt, and he couldn't help but find it both gratifying and incredibly sexy at the same time.

"Are you sure you don't want me to blow you?" Eames asked lustfully, and he looked as though he was about to go to his knees right there without waiting for a reply.

"No," Arthur answered quickly and maybe a little too sharply. "Now take those off and get on the bed."

Eames flushed more darkly, and Arthur could see that he was stiffening in his boxers. The fact that he did as directed, stripping off the last offending piece of clothing and then sprawling on his back on the bed went straight to Arthur's own dick. He wasn't going to get tired of this, he knew. Ever.

For all he didn't seem completely confident in what they were doing, Eames didn't show any signs of self consciousness where his nudity was concerned. He lounged back against the pillows, one knee slightly raised, and if he'd just put one hand behind his head he'd have looked like the hottest piece of pornography Arthur had seen.

"Are you sure, Arthur?" he asked, and he meant so much more than just the sex, Arthur thought. He might not know Eames as well as he wanted to, but he knew his well enough that he could be sure of this fact.

"Don't ask stupid questions," he responded, but not unkindly, as he joined Eames on the bed, crawling between his thighs and settling down on the mattress before reaching and closing his hand around the hot length of Eames' dick.

Eames sucked in a sharp breath, presumably at the boldness of this move, not at Arthur's words, though nothing would surprise Arthur at this point. When he'd come to London at Ariadne's behest to play point man on her first Cobb-less job, he certainly hadn't ever thought he'd end up between Eames' bared thighs, his fingers clasped around the man's dick. Not even when he had heard from Ariadne that she'd contacted Eames as well and that he was on his way.

Eames was slow to harden in Arthur's grip, but he didn't mind. He highly suspected that Eames had gotten off while blowing Archy. Which, yes, made him more than a bit jealous, but it worked in his favor, because now he'd have more time to savor this experience.

He glanced up at Eames, smirking, and found himself transfixed by the expression of awe and adoration on the man's face. His smirk softened into something more fond, and he didn't immediately bend to lick the tip of Eames' throbbing dick, even though that was his first instinct.

"It's all right, Eames," he said, and he felt like this assurance was as much for himself as it was for Eames.

Eames flushed and bit his lower lip, but the heat in his eyes didn't so much as flicker. If anything it grew more intense.

"I know it is," he husked, and then Arthur felt that he had waited long enough and he moved in to claim his prize.

***

Eames would deny to his dying day that he yelped when he felt the first hot, broad sweep of Arthur's tongue over the head of his cock. Arthur really knew how to startle a man, he thought vehemently, as he fought the urge to grab at that perfectly shellacked head of his.

It would be a shame to muss Arthur's hair, Eames thought vaguely as he shivered beneath Arthur's determined onslaught. But it might be even more of a shame to _not_ muss it.

He settled for grasping the bedcovers to either side of his hips, just for the moment. He wasn't fully erect yet, despite being _incredibly_ turned on by the kisses they had exchanged on the sofa -- not to mention the fact that _Arthur had his mouth on Eames' cock_ \-- but that was only because he'd come less than an hour before and he wasn't as young as he used to be.

But it was _Arthur_ who was now fitting his mouth over the head of Eames' cock, and that fact went a long way toward bringing him to full hardness. Because it was _Arthur_. Arthur was settling in to give him a blow job and if Eames hadn't already checked his totem when Archy had been in his hotel room and if he hadn't been able to vividly recall every single moment that had passed between then and now, he might highly suspect that he was dreaming.

But this wasn't a dream, it was reality, and while Eames could hardly believe it, he certainly couldn't refute it. It was happening, and it was amazing.

Arthur had a mouth that lived up to the promise of his beautiful lips. Hot and slick and wet... it was clear that he was no stranger to giving a blow job, and Eames was a jealous lover too, and he was going to tell Arthur so, just as soon as he could form more than one or two words in a row....

Vowel sounds didn't count, but that seemed to be all he was capable of at the moment. Full arousal definitely wasn't a problem anymore.

Arthur's mouth was both soft and demanding at once, and he was sucking Eames' climax out of him so hard and fast that it almost seemed impossible. Only, as Arthur had proved over and over again, both in and out of the dream-share, nothing was impossible for him. Even things that Arthur himself thought were impossible, like inception. Sucking Eames off on his hotel bed was surely nothing of a challenge.

Without his quite being aware of how it happened, Eames found that his hands were indeed in Arthur's hair, dealing the pomade some severe damage, and his hips were rocking as though they had a mind of their own. Arthur kept at it without a pause, taking Eames so deeply that Eames expected him to gag, but without gagging. Then there was a careful but determined finger between Eames' arse cheeks, pressing with obvious intent against the pucker of his anus, and maybe it was this that caused Eames to shout and stiffen as he came, and maybe not, but either way he shook his way through an orgasm far more spectacular and shattering than the one Archy had forced out of him. And he really didn't want to be thinking about Archy even as Arthur was drinking him down, so he focused on Arthur, prying open his eyes to gaze up at him through a swimming red tinge, because Arthur had said that he would jerk off onto Eames' stomach, was planning to cover him in come....

Arthur did not disappoint. His hair was nearly as mussed as Eames' as he levered up, shifting so that his knees were pressed into the mattress to either side of Eames' hips, his proud, hard cock jutting from under his shirttails. His beautiful lips were red and pressure-bruised, wet with spit and Eames' semen, and his cheeks were bright with colour, his eyes heavy-lidded and dark, a thin trickle of sweat working its way down his cheekbone and over the flushed flesh where one dimple was hiding. He grasped his large, thick erection and his wrist twisted as he set to work bringing himself off all over Eames as promised.

He'd just come -- had done, in fact, twice in the last hour -- but Eames couldn't help the hot rush of sexual arousal that flooded through him at the show that Arthur was putting on, just for him. It was more intense for the lack of urgency, and Eames luxuriated in the warm glow that it gave him as he lay back and simply enjoyed the show.

Arthur didn't last long before shooting off, grunting and hunching over as he coaxed out every last spurt. Then he halfway collapsed on Eames', hand still locked around his cock and rubbing it into the come on the planes of Eames' stomach. Eames approved, but he was a little too wrung out to express this, aside from the arm that he somehow managed to sling around Arthur's shoulders.

Arthur didn't seem to mind the lack of praise, plastering his mouth over Eames' as he let go his cock and smeared the mess further with his palm. Eames thought that he was going to need another shower very shortly, but he was still drowning in the dual pleasure of having just come and of having come _in Arthur's mouth_ , still soaking in the knowledge that Arthur was cuddling and kissing him, and he couldn't bring himself to move or to suggest that they repair to the bathroom as would be prudent.

"Do you still want to know whether I'm sure?" Arthur murmured against Eames' lips as he reluctantly pulled away. And looking at those beloved, sweat-dewed features, at the smug repletion in those dark espresso-coloured eyes, Eames had to admit that most of his doubts had been dealt a killing blow.

"No," he replied honestly. And then, because he didn't seem to know when to give honesty a miss, or when to shut the hell up and thank his lucky stars for what he'd unexpectedly gotten, he added, "I might still want to know why, though."

It was actually more comforting than annoying, the way Arthur rolled his eyes in exaggerated exasperation.

"I thought I told you not to ask stupid questions, Eames," he said, but he said it fondly, with a lazy drawl of mingled amusement and repletion to his voice. Eames ventured to guess that they were both feeling pretty damned good right now. Even if he _did_ have something of a disgusting mess cooling on his belly.

Eames drew in a breath, sure that he had a suitable comeback, but he discovered that he really didn't, and so he said nothing. Instead he tugged Arthur into another extended kiss, and after a moment of startlement Arthur melted into his embrace. Eames still wasn't quite sure how they had ended up here, like this, but he sure as hell wasn't going to fight it.

"Someday," Arthur said softly, nipping at Eames' chin, "You're going to have to tell me about this 'Bob' that Archy knew."

Eames scowled up at the ceiling because he didn't want to scowl at Arthur. And because meeting Arthur's eyes might give too much away, as he'd discovered. "No, I won't," he said firmly.

Arthur propped himself up on one elbow, smirking down at Eames. He looked remarkably disheveled and debauched, two things Eames had never thought he'd be lucky enough to see Arthur be. And he had been responsible for both, which made it a hundred times better. "It's that or I look into it myself," Arthur warned, but he sounded more teasing than serious, Eames thought. He hoped. "Do you really want me doing that?"

"Would you?" Eames asked, suddenly uncertain. He didn't know how much trust there was between them, how much he dared to trust Arthur, how much Arthur might trust him. Sure, they worked together in the dream-share incredibly well when they weren't arguing, but a relationship -- which he didn't think he was imagining Arthur wanted -- was something else entirely.

Arthur's gaze softened and his smirk turned into a genuine smile. "No, Eames. I wouldn't. Not if you didn't want me to."

Strangely, or maybe not so strangely, this was what decided Eames.

"All right," he said softly, giving Arthur back a smile of his own that he knew revealed pretty much everything that he was feeling. "Let's get into the shower and then I'll tell you all about Handsome Bob."

Arthur's brows rose, but he looked more trepidatious than anything else. "Are you sure?"

Eames felt his heart ache at the sincerity of this question, at the fact that Arthur could still doubt him at this point. It seemed that they might both have some issues with trust to work through. Well, at least they could work through them together.

"Absolutely," he replied as firmly as he could manage.

Arthur stared at him a long moment and Eames was reminded of the way Archy had done the same... only he felt that Arthur saw more of him than Archy ever could have done. And he knew that he _wanted_ Arthur to see.

" _Handsome_ Bob, huh?" Arthur finally asked, flashing his dimples as he climbed off of Eames and gave him a hand up from the bed.

"Are you arguing the appellation?" Eames asked with a mock pout, taking a moment to unbutton Arthur's shirt and strip it off of him, because it was in no way fair that he was the only one naked here. He barely cared about the teasing, more focused on making the trip to the bathroom, and wondering how much Arthur would let him get up to in the shower stall. After all, he still owed Arthur a blow job. Fairness dictated he both return the favour and show Arthur the same skill set he had shown Archy earlier that evening.

"Not at all," Arthur purred, grasping Eames face with one large, graceful hand -- thankfully _not_ the one covered in come -- and drawing him into a hot, invasive kiss that was as much tongue as lips. "And I'd love to hear all about this Handsome Bob. But I suspect I'll prefer Eames."

Eames grinned, taking Arthur's hand almost shyly and dragging him in the direction of the shower. Not that Arthur was at all reluctant. "I'm glad to hear that," he said, and it was hard to walk without tripping when he could barely take his eyes off of the sculpted lines of Arthur's chest and stomach. Not to mention that magnificent cock, mostly flaccid now, that he was planning on shortly getting into his mouth. People who regularly underestimated Arthur didn't seem to realize that he was all muscle. Eames was _not_ a person who underestimated Arthur.

"I...." He hesitated, not quite sure how to word what he wanted to day. "Bob belongs in the past. Yeah? Eames is... all yours."

Pleasure broke over Arthur's features, almost more powerfully than the rush of his climax, and Eames felt a corresponding warmth fill his heart, as foolish as that sounded.

"I'm glad to hear that," was all Arthur said, though, and Eames was immensely grateful to him for not turning it into a "moment". But then, Arthur knew Eames as well as anyone did, and a hell of a sight better than most. Knew him and didn't use what he knew against him.

"You're not going to run, are you, Eames?" Arthur asked, stopping suddenly and fixing Eames with a fierce, worried stare.

Eames shook his head immediately. They were both standing here naked with Arthur's dried spunk flaking off of Eames' belly, talking their way around their emotions for one another, but Eames didn't feel ridiculous. More than anything he wanted to reassure Arthur.

"Where would I run?" he asked, clutching at Arthur's hand tightly enough to hurt. Arthur didn't flinch, though, only held his fingers in just as close a grip. "There's nowhere you couldn't find me."

This didn't seem to reassure Arthur as much as Eames had intended, and he had known even as the words had left his mouth that he had misspoken. "I wouldn't follow you if you didn't want me to," Arthur said, and he sounded far more tentative than Eames was used to. He didn't like it.

"I told you," he said, forcing the words out because Arthur obviously needed to hear them. "Didn't I? That Eames is yours. There's nowhere to run, because there's no way I could get away from you, even if you didn't chase me. Besides," he added, gaining confidence because he wasn't the type to be hesitant for long, even while having a very serious discussion such as this one, "If I stay here and don't run away we can keep having great sex, right?"

A brilliant smile broke out over Arthur's face, and Eames kind of wanted to do all sorts of filthy things to those amazing dimples. With his tongue, his cock, his come.... "You have a very good point."

"Of course I do," Eames said with great dignity. "Now come on, darling. I need to wash off."

Arthur's eyes slid down to Eames' stomach, and Eames' cock twitched at the possessive flare of heat there. "I'll allow that," Arthur said in a throaty growl that Eames had never heard him use before but very much wanted to hear again. Forever. "As long as you let me mark you in other ways. Ways that last longer"

Eames was nodding before Arthur had finished speaking, incredibly turned on by the thought of Arthur biting him with those perfect white teeth, as well as the thought of sucking hickeys into Arthur's sharp hips and lean thighs in turn....

"But first," he declared as they both made haste to finally get into the bathroom and inside the shower stall, "You are going to come down _my_ throat."

And maybe this was mixing business and sex, and it was definitely falling in love with a mate... but Arthur was well worth breaking all of Eames self-imposed rules.

Maybe he was going to regret this, Eames thought vaguely as they washed one another's backs -- literally -- and traded languid kisses underneath the hot spray before Eames went to his knees and made promises with his lips that didn't involve traitorous words, but he didn't think so.

Sometimes a man just had to trust to _trust_ , and there wasn't anyone Eames trusted more than Arthur. And in return, he intended to prove himself worth of Arthur's trust.

So maybe returning to London hadn't been a complete disaster after all, if it had, beyond his wildest dreams, netted him Arthur.

He'd better run the opposite direction if he saw any of his old mates, though.

[end]


End file.
